Page 64 of Run to Me
The man who goes by Leonard looks up at me with scared eyes, scooting back with a gag over his mouth and his limbs confined. I drag the red bandana down to his neck, seething. “Morning, precious.”
“Fuck you,” he spits.
“No thank you,” I say, snatching a knife from the wall. “Since you’ve seen my face, I think it’s best to go with my original plan.”
“Which one is that?” His voice is hoarse.
“Removing those eyes so you’ll no longer be good at your job.”
“No,” he begs.
“You know what?” I cock my head. “I think I’ll take your tongue too.”
I’m not a killer. At least no one has driven me far enough to be one yet, but what I do to these men is sometimes so much worse than death. And they deserve every bit of it. Grabbing him by his hair, I yank his head back and pull his tongue out of his mouth, holding it while dragging the blade down the center. He makes a wretched sound with his throat, blood squirting all over the painter’s tarp underneath my feet as I press harder. I don’t stop until the small piece of him is separated from his body.
The small light up above is bright enough for me to see the tears lining his cheeks.
“Jace.” A soft voice comes from behind me and my blood goes cold. No. He was sleeping. One day is all it took. One day of me getting everything I wanted right before losing it forever.
I drop the knife, slowly turning around. Nate’s eyes widen in horror and he looks from me to the guy on the floor.
“What . . . what is this?” he croaks, stepping back.
“I . . . I told you not to come here, didn’t I? It’s not because I didn’t want you enough. It never was. It’s because I didn’t want you to see how I’ve been able to bypass the nightmares.”
His breaths quicken and tears hit his cheeks. “I . . . this isn’t you.”
“Yes it is.” I grab his hand and he tugs away, his eyes full of confusion. Where’s the disgust and anger?
“You don’t have to keep going this way. You can still let him go. You can still stop.”
“If I stop, they’ll keep going.”
His eyes blink and he looks at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head. “What do you mean?”
“This man works for a large trafficking ring. He steals young men and women from their families. He takes away all their hopes and dreams.”
“How many has there been?”
“Six. Maybe seven. Not enough, that’s for sure. Where there’s one man like this, there’s many.”
“If this is your way of trying to change the past, you’re only falling back into it. This is a dangerous game you’re playing. No one will care why you’re doing it, they’ll only see you as a threat to everyone around you. You don’t want that. I don’t want that.”
“Are you asking me to stop?”
“If not for me then yourself. You’re not only putting a mark on your back, you’re putting one on everyone you love too.” His words hit me like a bucket of ice. He’s right. I don’t know why I’ve never thought of that. I’ve been risking my family’s lives all this time and for what, to feel better about myself?
“Okay, I’ll stop. This will be the last time, I promise.”
“Good.” He sucks his teeth, turning around.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to Texas,” he heaves. “You were right. I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Don’t,” I plead.
“I’m sorry.” He sniffs, tugging at his arm and glancing back at me. “I don’t think I can do this after all. I don’t think . . . I’m sorry.”
